


The Shake

by yalikejazz4



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Canon Rewrite, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:15:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalikejazz4/pseuds/yalikejazz4
Summary: High school. As Rachel's first year and introduction to a new swathe of experiences, it becomes very clear what kind of year she's in for.A canon rewrite/overhaul of the first season, this keeps the story in the student's perspectives with each having their own times to shine.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Pilot

Rachel strode down the hallway, glowing like a shabbat candle. After days of marathon pleading, she was granted a gift that made her feel unstoppable: a Dominican blowout. She grinned from ear to ear, holding out strong against the urge to skip, as this was a mature Rachel she was striving for. At fourteen, she viewed high school as an open door, one through which she was going to burst, glittering and new. This Rachel may have outgrown Annie, but her goal now was Roxie Hart. She could do it, with her hair now silky and a cardigan she knew would make waves, she would definitely kill as Sandy Olsson. Suddenly, it hit her.  
It came as a shock, sinking further as the ground ice melted, the cold making her cringe as it settled into her shirt collar. An unholy shriek rang through the halls, not because the flavored sugar water was in her eyes, but the blowout was ruined. She could practically feel it crinkle again and her wailing didn’t stop for anything; not the shower in the girl’s locker room, not the call home, and certainly not the car ride in which one of her dads handed her a fruitless beverage.  
Her cries sank into a whimper as they stopped in front of the house. She sniffled, too ashamed to look him in the eye. He pursed his lips, tapping his thumbs as he contemplated what to say.  
“Remember when you were six?”  
She sniffled. “Hm?”  
“We were watching the TV and Disney was playing Rogers and Hammerstein's Cinderella.”  
Slowly, she nodded.  
“I remember the way your eyes lit up when you saw Brandy’s hair, you remember?”  
“Her hair was long and,”  
“And it was braids. But, she wasn’t the only black woman in that movie.”  
“I remember; there was one of her stepsisters, the Queen, and the--”  
“Fairy Godmother,” he said with her.  
“Played by Whitney Houston, who was originally going to play Cinderella but outgrew the role.”  
“And she looked fabulous; remember the curls?”  
“I know, but I don’t want to outgrow another role. Besides, braids and curls have been shown to be an outlier; the majority of actresses with my tone have blowouts and, a-and,”  
“Perms?” He cocked a brow.  
She fell silent.  
“Rachel, the last time you tried a perm, you screamed bloody murder then gave us a ten-page paper on why it should be considered child abuse.”  
She sat straight, attempting aloofness. “Well, womanhood requires a bit of pain tolerance. As does pretty.”  
He took in a deep breath. “Rachel, would you like a history lesson?”  
“I’ve had to supplement my history lessons with research of my own; I found a lot of gaps.”  
“Have they taught you about the Black is Beautiful movement?”  
She paused.  
“It started in the 1960s; it brought blackness to the forefront, letting us appreciate everything; heritage, accomplishments, hair,”  
Rachel looked into her lap.  
“There would be art and posters with women who had afros out to their shoulders. In fact, there’s a musical I’d like you to see. One with hair like yours is now.”  
She gave him a passing glance.  
“School Daze. I’ve got the VHS, we can play it before your dad gets home.”  
She finished what homework she was given and rushed to the TV, listening keenly to the opening song. I’m Building Me a Home. She sang along, just under the volume. She internally gasped at the first f bomb, realizing she was trusted with an R rating. Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the girls in the background, their hair growing in coils. Natural. And she saw a woman walk into the foreground and kiss Lawrence Fishbourne. Natural.  
Once again, Rachel was strutting down the hallway, that manic gleam in her eyes again. It took a month of trial and error, but she was back to her old self again, hair bouncing with her stride. She could reach and touch the stars! She turned to the cork board, finding a sign-up sheet for a Glee club. Standing straighter than she was, she marched up to that paper and signed her name, drawing a little star at the end.  
Classes were spent glancing at the clock, anticipation springing sweat on her upper lip. The moment the last bell rang, she bolted, nearly stumbling as she skidded to a halt onto the stage. She grinned widely, squinting until she adjusted to the stage light.  
“Hello! My name is Rachel Berry and my audition shall me,” she took in a shaky breath. “I’m The Greatest Star.”  
The instant she caught a glimpse of the music room, it was like a static shock. She jumped back, frozen. Pre-show jitters? No, she realized, that hadn’t been a thing since preschool. No, this was a leftover feeling-- a vestigial taint to her usual stride. Gym class.  
For once, she’d found herself a reason to hold her head high; certainly, she had yet to reach over five feet, but her dads had taken her shopping for a real brassiere. This lingering afterglow was interrupted by laughter. It wasn’t until she turned to the source, that being tall shiksa Quinn Fabray, that she heard those words.  
“Nice treasure trail.” Deep research on Urban Dictionary made her well aware that that was an insult. Regardless, the sinking feeling was preceded by a ballooning sense of confusion until she looked down. Even now, though wearing a shirt, she covered her stomach.  
Composing herself, Rachel strode into that room with a grin and a good evening. Her eyes streaked passed the faces of each member, not recognizing one except for Tina Cohen-Chang. She’d seen her once or twice at the Lima Jewish Center and had felt a breakthrough when she helped her through Bat Mitzvah practice, forceful though it was. Squealing, she ran up to her.  
“What did you audition with?”  
“W-W-...What?”  
“What was your song? I had to improvise, as this whole event had taken me by surprise. To be honest, I would’ve practiced something less on the nose, something I hadn’t uploaded on MySpace, but the show must go on.”  
“Oh.”  
“Mine was I’m the Greatest Star, yours?”  
“I-I Kissed a...Girl.”  
“Oh?”  
“B-By Katy Perry.”  
“”OH! Don’t worry, if you were a lesbian, I wouldn’t mind, you’ve met my dads.”  
A boy in a wheelchair lifted a finger toward Rachel, giving Tina a furrowed brow.  
“Th-This is R-R...Rachel, we…w-we know each other.”  
“Okay.”  
“What did you audition with?” Rachel asked, nearly bursting at the seams.  
“I Gotta Feeling?”  
She tapped her fingers together, a bit disappointed at the music list.  
He held out his hand. “Artie.”  
She took it. “Rachel Barbra Berry.”  
He let go, slowly sitting back at the sudden, intense eye contact. “Nice.”  
Her gaze flicked up to a duo talking, one of whom spoke with a hand draped over his chest. She walked over, not immediately speaking once they noticed her. Rachel frowned, cupping her chin. A light switched on.  
“You’re the one who smells like the girl’s bathroom!” She paused, eyes wide as she realized she blurted again. “I mean when it’s clean; usually the bathroom smells like a mix of body sprays, but every so often I get a smell of actual perfume, you can tell because it’s sharper.”  
“And you’re the one who raised hell over a slushie.”  
“It destroyed my blowout.”  
“I’d react the same.”  
The feeling of incoming hurt dissipated, moreso when she noted the carefully coiffed brown hair.  
“Kurt. And I heard your full name from over here.”  
“Mercedes,” said the girl next to him. She was a whole head above her and very dark, her smile radiant and, Rachel found, contagious.  
“Alright,” came a voice that made heads turn. A curly haired man came in with a stack of packets, which he passed around to each student.  
“Sorry about the delay, there’s a turf war going on over the copier.”  
“Guys and Dolls,” Rachel said.  
“Oh, yes. Know it?”  
“My dads rented the 1955 movie for their anniversary; I watched it twice and found it uninteresting. I’m a West Side Story kinda girl.”  
“Oh?”  
Tina stared at the floor, highly aware that he opened the floodgates.  
“I’ve seen it eighteen times; even though Natalie Wood was dubbed and I’m keenly aware that they darkened several actors portraying the Sharks, including Rita Moreno, I find that the stakes and raw emotions ring true. I look forward to playing Maria, I even took the time to learn Spanish.”  
“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you in my class.”  
“I passed by when I had to replace a pad; your accent is terrible.”  
Artie snickered.  
“Shall we sing?”  
The song was If I was a Bell. Mercedes was given the lead, the others providing background accompaniment. The song in her mouth felt milquetoast; as if a spoonful of cool whip was made into a song. Ding dong, ding dong, ding. She sighed through her nose.  
“This,” she motioned over the paper. “Feels like something too weak for my grandmother.”  
Rachel stepped up to her. “I would come to this musical’s defense, but this is high school; the era of passion; hormones; angst! I practically opened my school year with angst! And a Spike Lee musical with sparse numbers.”  
“Spike Lee made a musical?” Mercedes raised a brow.  
“One of the numbers was an ode to the early 1940s music stylings and repeatedly used the word jiggaboo.”  
Mercedes raised her brows at that last word.  
“Mister Shui, are you a fan of Sondheim?”  
“Shue,” he corrected. “And…I suppose?”  
“Obviously, we don’t have enough for, say, Company, however we can--” she interrupted herself a gasp.  
“You know, we are still in our infancy here.”  
“I figured you wanted to play it safe, but, oh.” She deflated.  
“I mean, I’d suggest Dream Girls, but…” her eyes drifted around the room.  
Rachel held her face.  
The door opened, a tall boy peeking in.  
“You’re late.”  
“Sorry, I had to sneak around.” He stooped, looking through the wire-crossed window. “What I miss?”  
“One number accompanied by piano.”  
“Cool,” he turned to them. “You okay?”  
“I am sinking into the depths of despair. Your speaking voice is remarkably pleasant, can you sing?”  
“Uh...yeah?”  
She lowered one hand from her cheek and held it out towards the piano.  
“Sweet!” He jogged up to it.  
Rachel closed her eyes, listening as the piano began.  
"Just take those old records off the shelf,"  
The voice she heard sent her flying, there was grit to its musicality in the form of a light rasp. She looked to him.  
"I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself  
Today's music ain't got the same soul,  
I like that old time rock and roll!"  
She glowed, finding herself entranced by the one whose back she realized she recognized. This was the man holding Kurt's things as he was dumped into the dumpster. The man who she'd pass and never looked high enough to see the face of. The man who Quinn Fabray would look at lovingly, arm in arm, before giving Rachel a smirk. Her heart sank.  
"Oh, dear."


	2. Showmance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's lingering distress plants seeds in heads and causes doors to crack open. What shall she do with it?

Rachel stared into the mirror, drowning in emotional conflict. Certainly, she was anticipating heartbreak, but traditionally one had to at least say hi. The only thing that tore her from her ennui was a sudden flush. She turned to the noise, finding Kurt walk up to a sink.

“Oh.”

Kurt frowned, glancing at her. “Oh?”

Rachel wiped a tear from her cheek. “I didn’t know you were a girl.”

Oh… 

“It could’ve been that I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”

Oh…

“Not that you’re not pretty, you are, just, the name Kurt had me confused; then again, Rachel is mine and Quinn continues to refer to me as a--”

“Rachel.”

”Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

She nodded, scurrying out of the bathroom. This wasn’t a long exchange, neither did it seem hostile, but it left Kurt pensive and late for math. Autopilot helped finish off the day, cutting short a confrontation with a hand to the face and a ‘not now’. It wasn’t until Burt settled down with his plate that the silence was cut short.

“Kurt?”

“Yes?”

Burt worked his jaw. “You, uh…you alright? I mean, you’ve got a whole other variety of quiet here.”   
“Y-Yes.”

“Someone come in with chartreuse?”

That invited a chuckle. “Trust me, chartreuse is the least of my problems right now..”

Burt gave a light smile. “What’s got you all quiet, then?”

That was the question, answered with a furrowed brow, then a bitten lip. What had caused this mental coma? Kurt sighed. Rachel. Rachel Running Mouth of Lima Heights had opened up a whole can of worms about something that seemed impossible.

“Classmate mistook me for a girl.”

“Mistook?”

“Whole thing had me thinking for a while.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“Well,” Kurt paused. Oh.

Mercedes shimmied her shoulders, sharing a smile with Tina as she joined in. Sister Act was blasting through the room on a little Bratz radio. She grinned.

“See? You got it!”   
Tina chuckled.

“Y’ain’t got Mike Chang’s moves, but who does?”

“I know R-R…Rachel l-likes to…brag.”

“I didn’t know you two met.” 

“L-Lima Ohio Jewish Center; B-Bat Mitzvah…practice.”

Mercedes frowned, a bit taken aback. “Really?” 

“S-She’s nice, but…o-once you bring up something she knows,” Tina mimed an explosion.

“I know that much.”

“S-She mainly knows how to settle…settle herself…down.”

Mercedes nodded, turning off the CD. “I didn’t know Lima  _ had _ a Jewish center.”

“I-It’s small; I think only Jacob’s the only other…person from school there.”

“Well,” she raised two peace signs. “Shalom.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing this,” Quinn said. “I mean, just being seen with them’s gonna wreak havoc on our rep-- we need our rep!”

“Don’t we have some sort of immunity? I mean, some people double up, no biggie.”

“The hierarchy is upheld by rules, Finn. It’s like a pyramid; if everyone started holding hands, we’d be in a pile.”

“Aren’t pyramids, like, rocks?”

“The point is, you’re cross contaminating with people at the base,” she craned her neck, raising her voice. “I’m including you in the cesspool, perv!”

Rachel jumped. Her eyes darted to her, caught off guard.

Quinn went back to Finn. “Quit and I’ll let you touch my boob.”

His eyes brightened. “Yeah?”

“Under the shirt, over the bra.”

He turned to Rachel, stoked until he realized she was deer-in-the-headlights frozen. Suddenly, a bad feeling sank in. Guilt. His gaze returned to Quinn. Her brows skyrocketed.

“Oh, no; we barely interacted, she just looks sad.”

“We have no room for pity, Finn.”

“It’s not pity, c’mon.”

As much as she’d love to listen further to find out whether or not she was pitied, Rachel couldn’t process any words. Slamming the locker, at least, that was how it sounded, she fled. Her beeline led right to Miss Pillsbury, the guidance counselor. She shut the door more carefully, not wanting any more loud.

Emma was already wondering what pamphlet was required.

Rachel walked to that chair as if she were splashed again.

“What’s got you, hon?”

“Well--” she sniffed. “I found myself in an unrequited love with the boyfriend of my tormentor.”

_ I’d like to be a princess on a throne _

_ To have a country I could call my own _

Emma raised her brows. “Oh.”

_ And a king, _

_ Who’s lusty and requires a fling  _

_ With a female thing _

_ Great, men will be men, _

_ Let me turn on the gas! _

Rachel sniffled.

_ I caught them after class _

_ With Hudson grabbing Fabray’s ass _

_ Oh sure, I’m sure he’s sure he did his best _

_ I mean, he meant to be what he was not _

_ The things he was are things which I forgot, _

_ He’s a queen, I’m a queen, where is my crown?  _

“I’m breaking down,” Rachel realized. 

_ I’m breaking down!  _

_ My life is shitty and my dads seem like idiots to me, I mean, that’s sick.  _

She drooped. 

_ I mean, he’s great!  _

_ It’s me who is the matter talking madder than the maddest hatter _

She took a deep, post-cry breath. 

_ If I repeat one more word, I swear I’ll lose my brain! _

_ Oh, what else should I explain? _

_ Oh, yes it’s true, I can cry on cue, but so can you! _

_ I’m breaking down. _

_ I’m breaking down. _

_ Down, down, _

_ You ask me, is it fun to cry over nothing?  _ **_It is!_ ** __

_ I’m breaking down. _

As Brian the pianist played on, Rachel found not just grief, but rage.

_ Now let's consider what I might do next _

She spat the lyrics.

_ I hate admitting I've become perplexed _

_ I'm bereaved _

_ I've cried, _

_ I've shook _

_ I've yelled! _

_ I've heaved _

_ I have been deceived! _

“Rachel?”

She paused at Mister Shue’s voice. 

“I know you don’t like being interrupted, but are you alright?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, either you’re lying to me, or you’re one hell of an actress.”

“I find myself unexpectedly attached to Trina. As much as It would be an interesting duality playing Doctor Charlotte, tragedy seems to follow me.”

Hesitant, he nodded.

“Shall I continue?”

“Sure, sure.”


	3. Chapter 3

Brad bobbed his head to the lively tune of Le Freak. Kurt was missing, something Rachel had noticed almost immediately. Shue noticed her searching the room, even as she hit her marks in the wave. 

“Rachel?”

“Yes?” She pointed skyward. Up, down, up, down.

“You seem distracted.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been in a similar situation before.” Electric slide. “My mind may not be there, but, I assure you; the last time I tripped while distracted, I was four years old and it was my fifteenth week in ballet class-- they replaced the sun with Barney.” She pulled Mercedes into a dip. “Where’s Kurt?”

“Out on an ashram.”

“In India?” 

“I…doubt it. Either way, we will be searching for new members.”

“My generation’s relationship with disco is strained due to virulent homophobia and racism.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Are you serious?” Mercedes interjected.

That caused Mr. Shue to pause. “How bad are we talkin?”

“I know the word Negro hasn’t been thrown around, but I’ve had several styles ruined by those slushies once a week. Not only that, the only time I heard mention of Shirley Chisolm was in the Black Student Union.”

Rachel frowned. “We have a Black Student Union?” 

“See?”

“Can I join?”

“Sure.”

Rachel bounced on her heels, grinning as she tapped her fingers together. “And she is very correct, Mister Shue; during an American history lesson, I was once told that I resembled a house slave.”

Mr. Shue’s eyes widened. “Oh…”

“It was during a discussion in which the teacher was discussing nice slave owners.”

“Oh, wow.”

“When I told my dads, both used the term ‘bullshit.’”

“Don’t swear.”

“Oh.”

“And…really?”

Mercedes nodded. 

Rachel let out an excited squeak.

Shue internally sighed, relieved. “Yes, Rachel?” 

“Can we do Hairspray?”

“We’re already practicing for Disco. Kids love ‘em.”

“Do you at least have Donna Summer?”

“Yes.”

Once again she glowed, though this one grew sinister.

The red curtain gently swayed. Mercedes looked at Tina, giving her a smirk. Tina chuckled. Finn fiddled with the wide reaching collar of his shirt. Everyone was in their 70s best; bell bottoms, bright colors, the works. Mercedes looked in a makeup mirror, adjusting the barette pulling back one side of her afro. Rachel fluffed her ponytails, enjoying how it felt against her hands. She and Mercedes wore short shorts, Tina dug the bell bottoms.

“Are those stockings?”

Rachel gave Mercedes a glance. “Yes. Stage stockings.” She held out a leg. “And kneesocks.”

“Chafing?”

“That and my body hair grows thick. See?” She held out her arm.

Mercedes held her hand. “‘This why you wear cardigans?”

“As much as I don’t appreciate overheating, I appreciate Quinn’s comments even less.”

She frowned, looking her in the face. Rachel kept her gaze down. Their eyes darted to the curtain as Mister Shue began to introduce them. Everyone got into position, arranged in an arrow. The beat thumped as the curtain parted. Mercedes stepped through, the others splitting into pairs.

_ Sittin' here eatin' my heart out waitin' _

_ Waitin' for some lover to call _

_ Dialed about a thousand numbers lately _

_ Almost rang the phone off the wall _

They began to grind.

_ Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby, this evenin' _

Hair flip.

_ I need some hot stuff, baby, tonight _

Spin, drop.

_ I want some hot stuff, baby, this evenin' _

_ Gotta have some hot stuff _

_ Gotta have some love tonight _

The rest of the troupe backed the Baby, baby as Rachel sashayed up to the center stage, continuing the song. 

_ Lookin' for a lover who needs another _

_ Don't want another night on my own _

_ Wanna share my love with a warm blooded lover _

_ Wanna bring a wild man back home _

They sang the chorus together, encouraged by the whoops and excited laughter, though perhaps it was the fact that Rachel and Tina were doing the pretty wine in waist-high pants. Finn and Artie did body rolls on the far left and right of the stage. Finn noticed Mr. Shue in the midst of the crowd, his jaw practically on the floor. The instant he looked at his fellow dancers, he locked eyes with Rachel tracing her hands up her body. Oh, he thought. Shit.

Afterwards, they were crowded into the guidance counselor’s office, taken aback by her deer in the headlights expression. Rachel cleared her throat.

“What are we doing here?”

“Well,” Miss Pillsbury folded her hands together. “The exhibition you put on; it was…a bit much.”

“We were giving the crowd what they wanted-- not to mention we dug deep into the meaning of the song!”

“And what was that?”

“Sex!”

“Rachel, you’re fourteen. Now, I know that kids your age are a soup of hormones and…and a ghastly amount of body spray, but there’s something you have to remember: there’s adults in the room and you’re trying to display all…that in front of them.”

Rachel’s eyes went wide.

“Now, I know what you’re all gonna say; that it’s unfair, so on and so forth, but there are rules.”

“To be honest,” Mercedes began, “I think some of those rules have some double standards.”

“I know, but the point is that you’re children and the world is rough and strange and, frankly, gross.”

“Why do the Cheerios have those skirts, then?”

“The Cheerios don’t have a budget on their last legs and have bloomers underneath.”

“W-Well,” Tina interjected. “I-I, I wore lon--sh--...long pants.” 

“The attire isn’t what got you in trouble. It was the gyrating and the grinding and the suggestive lyrics.”

“It’s not gyrating,” Rachel said, returning from her shock. 

Pillsbury paused. “What?”

“It’s not gyrating. It’s the pretty wine.”

“Regardless, it’s provocative.”

“Why?”

“The hip movements are sexually suggestive. And, frankly Rachel, your body is growing; it is very inappropriate to be remotely suggestive in this school. In fact, I’m not so sure if you had sex ed yet, but, this is the last thing we need. This is why the parents are complaining.”

Rachel furrowed her brow. “I aroused people?”

“What’s gonna happen, teach?” Finn asked.

“First of all,” Pillsbury pressed her hands together. “I’m a guidance counselor, second, considering how you’re currently dressed within the code, perhaps a pamphlet.” She brought out five copies of the same paper: _Why Do They Look At Me Like That?_

Everyone took theirs, each giving it an odd look.

Rachel furrowed her brow. “I arouse people.”


	4. Drop The Ruby Slippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fallout of the Disco Incident, little revelations begin to peel back about some of the members. And the dominoes begin to set up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be a rewrite of Accafellas and Preggers, but with the change in perspective and characters, information will come at a different pace. Also, brief swearing.

Judy peeked around corners, scared out of her mind. She took a week of hermitage, during which the musings of a Mister Bono had allowed her to parse her words. It wasn’t much, neither was The Crying Game, but much wasn’t what she was working with. She sighed. She expected Dolly Levi and got Susan Storm. Emails were already made, she raised her hand, feeling as if she were splashed during a blizzard every time. She stepped up to the door, opening to Rachel.

“Hello!”

Judy pressed her mouth into a line. She really didn’t wanna talk to her. Nevertheless, she strode up to her, looked over her face and opened her own maw, overjoyed.

“Shh,” she whispered. “I…” 

“I know about your coming out, Mister Shue gave us the rundown and we’re going to be meeting our newcomers.”

She froze. “Oh, my god.”

“Is that not good?”

“I don’t know! This entire mess was launched because you opened your mouth and--” the door opened. “Hello,” she greeted.

“No.”

Quinn put a hand on her hip. “Excuse me?”

“You have no reason to be here, this is my spot.”

“I didn’t realize the piss stench was you.”

“I have a right to be in this school without you calling me a--”

“ _ I _ have a right to keep an eye on my boyfriend.”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere near him.”

“Why should I after that mating dance?”

“Excuse me?”

Judy leaned in between them. “As much as I live for drama, not when it’s real. Can you not?”

Still seething, Rachel slowly turned away. “Bomboclaat.”

Two other cheerleaders walked in, ones Rachel didn’t recognize. A brunette led a blonde by the pinky; the former being Santana, the latter Brittany. Nevertheless, Rachel walked up to them, hesitant to brandish a smile. It dawned on her the closer she got, though she was hazy on specifics. She strode up to them.

“Afternoon.”

Santana paused, just looking at her. 

“You’re dressed like my babcia,” Brittany said. “She doesn’t tan like you, though.”

“I’m black,” Rachel responded, bewildered.

“I thought you were Jewish.”

“I’m both.”

“What, like Drake?”

She paused. “Yes, actually.”

Brittany smiled.

Rachel’s eyes flicked to Santana.

“What?”

“I simply sense talent from you.”

“That’s why I joined the Cheerios.”

“And the Glee club?”

She simply smirked. 

Rachel held out her hand toward the piano. 

Santana lifted a mini radio with her free hand. She strode over, placing it on the black lacquered surface and pressed play. Rachel sat.

Santana waved her hips.

“ _ All the single ladies _ ,”

Brittany joined. “ _ All the single ladies _ ,”

_ All the single ladies, _

_ (All the single ladies)  _

_ All the single ladies  _

_ (All the single ladies) _

_ All the single ladies  _

_ Now, put your hands up! _

The two of them sang Single Ladies as a duet, though Rachel kept her eyes on Santana. Internally, she claimed to herself that it was the replication of Beyoncé’s choreography, though that wouldn’t explain the heat swarming her cheeks. Perhaps it was the soul added to that emphasized don’t. Perhaps it was the Cheerios uniform, though Brittany wore the same thing. She sighed, hoping there wouldn’t be another bout of heartache. Her heart nearly gave out at the sudden wave of applause. 

The next day, she strode up to that Cheerio, the name of whom she wrote with a glitter gel pen onto a sticky note, and cleared her throat as she shut her locker. She looked down at her. With a deep breath, Rachel stood straight.

“Santana Diabla Lopez?”

She furrowed her brow at the use of her middle name. “What?”

“Eres linda. Mi corazón baila cuando estoy con ti, y no sé qué hacer.”

“I thought you were hetero.”

“I’m talentsexual. And, despite the slow progress of society, I myself have had the opportunity to come to terms with what I want.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I don’t expect marriage, not even my dads’ marriage is legally recognized here, but know that once I reach Broadway, I may remember you in my speech.”

Santana just stared at her. She wanted to rub in the silence, but her creative side had the cogs turning. Rachel usually dressed like an extra in Fiddler, but there was a hint of what she had during the disco thing. Santana cocked a brow. 

“You’ve been rather silent,” Rachel said.

Santana crossed her arms.

_ Whenever I see someone less fortunate than I, _

_ And let’s face it, who isn’t, less fortunate than I? _

_ My tender heart tends to start to bleed, _

“Your parents ever leave you home alone?”

“Well, their anniversary is coming up.” Rachel frowned. “Why?”

_ And when someone needs a makeover, _

_ I simply have to take over! _

_ I know, I know, exactly what you need, _

_ And even in your case, _

“You’ll see.”

_ Though it’s the toughest case I’ve yet to face, _

_ Don’t worry, I’m determined to succeed _

_ Follow my lead _

_ Any, yes indeed, _

_ You _

_ Will _

_ Be _

“ _ Popular _ ,” the song played on Rachel’s cd player as Santana rifled through her closet. “ _ You’re gonna be pop-yoo- _ hoo _ -lar _ ,”

“You ever wear leggings?”

“During my morning workout routine.”

She picked out a short skirt. “Ooh~!”

“That one is too narrow for my hips.”

“Try your waist, genius.”

_ I’ll show you what clothes to wear, _

_ How to fix your hair, _

Santana walked up to her. She pressed the skirt against her pelvis, seeing how it’d drape.

_ Everything you have to do to be popular, _

Rachel’s whole face warmed, gently grasping its hanger as Santana picked up a large purse from the bed.

_ I know about pop-yoo-hoo-lar, _

_ You’ll hang with the right cohorts, _

_ You’ll be good at sports, _

_ Know the slang you’ve got to know, _

_ So let’s start, cause we’ve got a long, long way to go _

“And, guess what I brought you. Lipgloss.”

_ Don’t be offended by my frank analysis _

_ Think of it as personality dialysis _

The gloss smelled like an approximation of bubblegum. Rachel couldn’t stop staring at Santana, though it was likely the fact that she was painting on the pink shimmer.

_ Now that I've chosen to become a pal _

_ A sister and adviser,  _

Santana smirked.

_ There's nobody wiser _

Rachel swallowed.

_ Not when it comes to _

_ Popular _

Santana kinda rocked to the upbeat tune, starting to get into it. This added a sort of ease, with Rachel smiling.

_ I know about popular _

_ And with an assist from me to be who you'll be _

_ Instead of dreary who-you-were, well, are _

_ There's nothing that can stop you from becoming popu-ler,  _

_ Lar! _

_ La la, _

Santana looked over her face.

_ La, la! _

She reached over Rachel to that purse. She pulled out a liquid liner. 

“Close your eyes.”

She heeded.

_ We’re gonna make you pop _

_ Yoo, _

_ Ler! _

She drew on a winged look, softly singing along.

_ When I see depressing creatures _

_ With unprepossessing features _

_ I remind them on their own behalf to think of _

_ Celebrated heads of state or _

_ Especially great communicators _

_ Did they have brains or knowledge? _

_ Don't make me laugh! _

Rachel opened her eyes once the wet brush left her second eye. She would’ve brought forth an excuse as to why she was staring in a way that wafted pining; the laid edges, the french braids slung over her shoulders, all would’ve been described aloud with adjectives such as ‘well-maintained’ and ‘enviable.’ She tapped her fingers together, her cheeks on fire. They both went in, knocking their heads together.

“Augh…” Rachel rubbed her forehead. She sniffed, picking up the makeup mirror. 

“ _ Why, Miss Elphaba, _ ” Glinda softly said on the cd. “ _ You’re beautiful _ .”

Her eyes shot to Santana’s. She planted her lips on hers. 

_ And though you protest, _

_ Your disinterest, _

_ I know clandestinely. _

_ You’re gonna grin and bear it, your newfound popularity! _

_ La la, _

_ La, la, _

_ You’ll be popular! _

_ Just not quite as popular as meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! _


End file.
